


Paws (Like Jaws but Way, Way Worse)

by infinite_wonders



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Accidental Puppy Acquisition, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Getting Together, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, M/M, Machiavellian Plots, Not Season/Series 02 Compliant, Slow Romance, but with puppies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4650900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinite_wonders/pseuds/infinite_wonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Matt wages a war against a puppy and loses every battle, but then finds a way to exploit said puppy’s cuteness in a Machiavellian plot to win Foggy’s heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted puppies and MattFoggy and so I speed typed well, puppies and MattFoggy. This is a fun fic, folks, nothing serious. I am proud of myself for that. However there is no beta and also, I didn't bother to really reread after the speed type. Apologies. It's not going to be super well written. Then again, I can't claim that any of my fic is Super Well Written. So. Whatever.

**

It all starts, as it tends to do when Matt gets involved in, well, anything really-- with him ending up in a dumpster, with a face full of four day old lasagna and grape soda in his hair.

Unfortunately, Matt's too busy trying to make sure that he’s not concussed ( _again_ ) to become too invested in what's going on around him, outside of anything that might cause his untimely death.

Probably, that's why he doesn't notice when he picks up his uninvited passenger until way later and, by then, Foggy's already got his hands in and it's too damned late to anything.

Matt's freaking _doomed_ ; it must be a Tuesday.

**

His first clue that something wrong, is when he drags his sad, aching carcass back to Foggy's place-- bedraggled appearance and his best, most pathetic puppy face in place. He’s had a shitty few days, and is absolutely ready to be doted on a little, to spend a few hours being fussed over in that special way that only Foggy can pull off without making Matt wanna run away. "Oh my God," Foggy says and reaches for him, right on cue as Matt climbs in through the window, the concern in his voice a balm to Matt's tired, tired soul, "you poor little thing! Come here!"

Which, granted, Matt hasn’t been called little, not since he’d finally hit puberty at like seventeen, and shot up to the full 5 foot 10 inches of lose-your-teeth-if-you-comment, Murdock height. But he’s ready for his hug now, to bury his face into Foggy’s neck under the guise of much needed physical support-- he’s ready to just rest for a little while and Foggy can call him _literally anything_ as long as Matt gets what he wants in the end.

He brings his arms up, ready to receive what he feels is his due, when Foggy proceeds to reach _past_ Matt, into the hood of the sweatshirt he'd stolen off of someone’s laundry line to shield himself from the rain, and pulls out...fluff. Live, wriggling fluff, that's yipping away in a squeaky voice that's already making Foggy's heartbeat go fast and fluttery.

(How the hell he missed having a _live creature_ in the hood of his stolen sweatshirt, even he doesn’t know. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t lost _that_ much blood, recently. Maybe. Possibly he’s just that tired, which makes this whole thing that much worse.)

All Matt can do is stand there, forgotten, as his best friend, who’s supposed to be pampering him and giving him cuddles and comfort food, turns into an almost literal pile of goo without Matt even being involved.

It’s not right.

“Hey!” he says, affronted, feeling a whole lot like he’s been cheated out of something that rightfully belongs to him.

“Oh my God who’s the cutest little puppy in the whole wide world?” Foggy coos, ignoring Matt altogether and already sounding too far gone for his comfort.

“Yip!” the dog barks, in the smuggest tone that Matt’s ever heard out of something that so small and easily crushed.

**

The problem of it is, normally, Matt wouldn’t react so poorly-- he’s neither so petty nor so terrible that he’d begrudge an orphaned baby animal affection and cuddles.

But this is Foggy’s affection, and these are Foggy cuddles, and the only baby animal Foggy’s allowed to lavish those things on is him, or something.

Thing is, he’s been feeling a little bit more possessive of his friend lately, especially after the whole debacle with his untimely and unasked for unveiling as the resident Masked Vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen. Because he’d spent a long, horrible few days thinking that he’d lost the first person who’d managed to crawl into his heart, who’d burrowed under his skin and made himself at home since-- 

\--since fucking _Stick_ , which isn’t the precedent to look at by any stretch of the imagination.

He really, really doesn’t want to have to share him with anybody at all, least of all with a best friend usurping mutt of a puppy who isn’t fooling Matt with his cute ways. Because Matt knows pure, unadulterated evil when he senses it.

Now if only Foggy would listen to him about this.

“I’m telling you,” Matt insists, voice dark, “one day, you’re going to wake up and all of your socks and potentially your soul will have disappeared into this mutt’s gaping hell maw.”

Foggy stares at him and says, strangled, “I’ll uh, take that into consideration, Matty.”

As if Matt can’t tell that he’s trying his best not to laugh, the asshole.

**

Also, for the record, Foggy doesn’t take anything into consideration at all. He’s also an evil bastard, and Matt’s wondering whether he should start going after him instead of the Criminal Underworld, but that’s neither here nor there.

**

“What are you going to even do with a dog, Foggy?” Matt’s being petulant, he knows that he’s being a brat. He just doesn’t care right at this moment because he is tired, and injured, and _Foggy’s not paying attention to him._

Foggy, who’s busy rubbing the pup down with one of the fluffy towels that he should be using on Matt, just snorts. “What do people normally do with the loveable strays, Matt?” he asks.

“Report them to the shelter and have them picked up so they and, by extension, their best friends, can go back to their normal lives?” he asks, retaining a little bit of hope even though he knows exactly what Foggy’s gonna say.

True to form, Foggy snorts and makes a buzzing noise. “Nope, try again.”

Matt groans; this is absolutely not going to end well.

**

“I named him, Daredevil. DD for short.” Foggy says cheerfully the next morning, timing it to exactly when he knew Matt was taking a sip of his drink and proving that he’s out to kill him. “It’s perfect because he’s a bit of a moron, and he’s got this reddish tint to his coat, see? And I love him even though he’s not the brightest crayon in the box because he means well no matter how raggedy things end up.”

Matt _chokes_.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be using a different cliche?” Karen asks in the meantime, her voice wry, “his coat is pretty bright you know. I’m pretty sure that if crayola made a color for it, it’d potentially be one of the brightest in there.”

Foggy pretends to think about it, because he’s a jerk and Matt’s seen him use that face a thousand and one times before ripping the opposing counsel's argument to _shreds_. Also, ok, Matt knows about Foggy’s passive aggressive tendencies. He’s _lived_ through Foggy’s passive aggressive tendencies being directed at him, on a few occasions. He _knows_ enough to know that this is exactly what it is. “I _could_ say that he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, maybe, but I don’t want to tempt fate with that one,” Foggy replies in the meanwhile, solemn.

Karen thinks he’s talking about itty, bitty puppy teeth.

Matt knows better. He also does not appreciate what Foggy’s implying here-- it can’t be possible that the puppy has already burrowed itself deep enough that Foggy loves it as much as he loves Matt.

Except, both Foggy and Karen proceed to coo, in short order, as the stupid thing apparently does something else appallingly cute.

Matt grimaces-- if the stupid thing wants war, then it’ll get one.

**

That evening, just as they’re about to leave, Matt makes his first move.

“Hey Foggy,” he yells from clear across the office, because he knows it’s ticks Foggy off for some weird reason, “You, me, and Josie’s tonight. Yes?”

The sound of Foggy his teeth from all the way in his office is music to his ears; Foggy saying no is decidedly not.

“Sorry dude, can’t” Foggy says and yes, ok, he does genuinely sound apologetic, but that’s not really helpful to Matt, is it? Foggy never says no-- has never said no before-- and now here they are, with no drinking partner for Matt and no way to further his agenda.

Not cool.

“Why not?” Matt asks, his voice mild even as he stomps over to the office across from his and nearly kicks the door down in his attempt to make his ire known-- he even crosses his arms when he gets there and takes on his most defensive stance to show Foggy just how displeased he is with what’s being laid down, here.

“Have you ever noticed that you sulk whenever I tell you no?” Foggy asks, apropos of exactly _nothing_ , instead of answering Matt’s question like a normal civilized human being. Because that’s not the freaking point, alright? It’s just-- _not_.

Of course, when he says as much, Foggy just laughs. “Of course it isn’t,” he says, sounding so warm and so, so fond that Matt almost forgives him for everything, on the spot, “God forbid Matt Murdock ever be caught sulking because his friend denied him something for the first time possibly ever.”

Matt feels bad. “It’s not that a friend said no to me,” he explains as earnestly as he can, “it’s that a Foggy said no to me. That matters.”

Foggy just laughs and laughs and, Matt’ll never tell him, but he freaking _cackles_ when he gets like this. It’s the most adorable thing ever.

“Alright, buddy,” he says and actually reaches over to pet Matt’s head, “I get ya.”

“Still gonna have to say no though. Need to take DD to the vet and get him checked out, ya know?”

No, Matt doesn’t know and he doesn’t like this new interloper taking up all of _his_ best friend’s time, time that rightfully belongs Matt and has done since they first met in Columbia.

He stomps off the way he came. “You sound like a witch when you laugh,” he says, spiteful, just as he slams the door, “It’s not cute.”

The squawk Foggy lets out isn’t nearly as satisfying as he had thought it would be. He also feels like he should go to confession, after dropping such a blatant, _blatant_ lie.

**

Later that night, he barges into Foggy’s apartment, armed with Chinese food from Foggy’s favorite place, a case of Foggy’s favorite beer, and a smile that he knows makes Foggy be extra nice to him because it makes him “look like a baby duck, Matt, I can’t even deal with you, go point that in someone else’s direction.” Honestly, he’s not sure what that even means but hey, it sounds complementary and Foggy likes to make sure Matt knows when he’s being insulting.

“I bring gifts,” he says, barging in through the door before it’s even fully open. “We’re going to stuff our faces and watch movies.” He manages to walk an entire three feet into the apartment before he, bafflingly, _illogically_ , finds himself tripping on God only knows what and falling face first into the hardwood.

The food, judging by the sounds of how everything lands, somehow survives the fall, though Matt would be hard pressed to explain how the hell that happens. 

Matt, on the other hand, is a crumpled mess on the floor.

This is unprecedented; Matt is a little resentful.

Rather, he _would_ be but Foggy, as Foggy does, absolutely _freaks_ , on _his_ behalf this time, and makes it impossible for Matt to stay mad. “Oh my God, Matty! What the hell just happened?” He sounds just as puzzled as Matt feels-- because Matt’s been in this place about a thousand and one times, now, and even then, he has the spatial awareness of a particularly well trained military dog. Matt should not have fallen; they both know this. 

And yet.

It isn’t until he’s moving to get up, when the sad, deflated sound of a half destroyed squeak toy reaches his ears, that either one of them realizes what had happened.

The silence is deafening for just a second, then Foggy laughs until he cries.

**

“Where is the little pipsqueak, anyway?” Matt asks about an hour later, curled up on the couch with an icepack and not sulking, thank you Foggy, because he is a mature adult and not the child that Foggy seems to think he is. “I can’t hear his heartbeat in here.”

Foggy glares; Matt can tell because Foggy, oddly, has very specific body language and also tends to work in combos-- glares always come with the hands on the hips, just like smiles always come with a soft head tilt and a happier heartbeat. 

Matt can always depend on Foggy to channel his inner Italian grandmother, whenever Matt is involved.

Lo and behold, Foggy does not disappoint. “First of all,” he says, and whoop there go the hands, Matt can’t help but grin, “put that ice-pack back where it belongs or _so help me_.” 

Matt is quick to do as he’s told, because he may or may not have an ingrained, automatic reaction to having Foggy bark orders at him. It may or not may not involve following said orders on pain of some of the most vindictive cold shouldering that Matt has ever been subject to, in his entire life. He’s lived through being abandoned by a second father figure with no warning whatsoever, so that’s saying something.

“Secondly,” Foggy says in the meantime, rolling right along while Matt’s not paying attention, “That heartbeat thing? Still creepy. But more importantly, what the hell do you have against DD, anyway?”

It’s actually a few seconds before Matt responds because, sometimes, he forgets that silence means that people are actually expecting a response out of him. “Nothing!” he says, wincing internally as he tries and fails at actually being convincing, “I don’t have anything against...the dog.”

“You can’t even say his name!”

Which, ok, isn’t a false statement, because Matt really doesn’t like the dog and Foggy’s the asshole who decided to name his dog after his crime fighting vigilante best friend’s alter ego and that’s more than a little embarrassing. But like, he could! In theory!

Foggy isn’t impressed when he says so but, bless him, he also doesn’t press.

“Alright, alright,” he says with a sigh before rescuing their food from the ground where they’d left it, “We’re going to eat. And then we’re going to go and pick DD up from the vets.”

Of course they are.

**

The puppy’s next move to make Matt’s life as difficult as possible is both gross and unnecessary, and unnecessary because it’s _so fucking gross_.

They walk into the vet’s office, Foggy as happy and as chipper as ever as he greets the damned thing and, the next thing he knows, the acrid scent of piss hits his nose.

“Foggy,” he says very carefully, his voice a little loud only so he can heard over the dog’s excited barking, “did he just--” He can’t even finish the sentence.

It’s the lady at the reception desk who laughs at him this time. “Oh that’s totally normal,” she says, “the little guy’s just marking his territory is all.” His territory. Foggy. What.

Matt grits his teeth in a smile. “Oh, is that so,” he says. It comes out more frigid and perhaps a little bit more bloodthirsty than he intends.

That’s probably why Foggy carries the pup all the way home, on the side opposite to where Matt is walking. Matt would be insulted but, well, he’s pretty sure that Foggy’s right with this one.

**

This is probably as good a time as any to mention: he’s sort of got a little crush on Foggy-- might be a little smitten, even, and potentially a little in love. 

He may or may not have chased away a suitor or several since college because, and mind you, this is just conjecture, but Matt may or may not be a possessive dick. This pup is not helping these tendencies.

**

When they get back to Foggy’s place, the first thing that the puppy does is sniff around everything, including Matt’s leg, and it attacks the first thing that captures its attention, which also happens to be _Matt’s leg_.

What a coincidence.

He goes to gently, if clinically, detach the thing-- because he is not a monster despite his feelings of rage and jealousy and even raging jealousy-- but then Foggy just sort of _coos_. “He’s playing with you,” he says, the way he narrates whenever he, or someone else, makes gestures in front of Matt, “You guys are _adorable_.” The sound of a camera going off is loud as hell to Matt’s ears.

 _Well_.

At least, Matt supposes grudgingly, they’re _both_ adorable this time. 

In the spirit of his victory, he even allows the puppy to initiate a game of tug of war. Granted, it’s tug of war with his tie, which he really does need because he’s got all of three at this point (he’s used one too many as makeshift handcuffs in the most depressingly non kinky way)-- but tug of war nonetheless.

Also, he gets to bask in Foggy’s approval, but that’s neither here nor there.

**

Incidentally, because that’s just how his life goes, Matt does not get to revel in these feelings of magnanimity for long. But, hey, he at least manages to get what he wants, in the end, and gets to use the puppy as, well.

Maybe leverage isn’t the best word for it. It’d probably be better described as whining until he also gets to do what the puppy gets to do. But hey, Matt is a grown man and can call his own behavior whatever the hell he wants.

“If it gets to sleep on the bed, I get to sleep on the bed too.” Matt says with a stubborn scowl on his face, stripping without giving Foggy the opportunity to say no. “It’s only fair.”

Foggy just sighs and turns off the lights with a quiet ‘snick’ and crawls into the opposite side of the bed.

**

Matt considers it an extra, super win when he wakes up the next morning to Foggy plastered all down his side, nuzzling into his neck and snoring softly in his ear.

He doesn’t even care that he also wakes up to the puppy’s _entire bodily mass_ directly on his face.

**

The issue with being involved in a lifelong enmity with a puppy is that the puppy in question never seems to comprehend that he is in fact, _the enemy_.

See Exhibit A: The fact that he goes ape shit whenever he sees Matt, starts chasing his tail, trying to jump five feet and ten inches into the air like his small, twelve inch body will ever make it high enough to lick Matt right in the face. _Ha._

Also, Exhibit B: That the pup always chooses him, for some reason, to play fetch with, like he knows that Matt is, at the very least, mildly resentful of him and wants to remedy that situation by being as ungodly cute as he’s physically capable.

And worse of all, Exhibit C: That thing the stupid puppy does where it crawls up on top of Matt and _falls asleep on him_ after one of their games of Epic Fetch ™, as though they aren’t currently in the middle of a blood-feud.

“It’s not fair,” Foggy complains one day, “I’m the one who has to feed him, and wash him, and take care of him and you just get to do all the fun parts.”

“Well,” Matt replies cheerfully even as he cards his fingers through the puppy’s soft fur, because he is neither above throwing oil into fires nor above progressing his own agenda with truly appalling amounts of not so casual hints and subtext, “guess that would make you the responsible mom in this little family, and me the cool dad, if we’re going by stupid, conventional stereotypes.”

Foggy is conspicuously silent on the matter and maybe Matt doesn’t actually _hate_ the puppy too much anymore. But then Foggy calls him DD or, worse, _Daredevil_ , and Matt is reminded of the pure menace that this puppy is capable of wielding with little to no effort on its part.

**

“Don’t you take after your Daddy, Daredevil,” Foggy chides, sounding mildly irritated as he puts the pup in puppy time out or whatever, “you don’t get to just do whatever you want and then escape the consequences by looking cute.”

“Does that mean _I_ get to do whatever _I_ want and then escape the consequences by looking cute?” The world deserves to know. Also, _Matt_ deserves to know, for science, and also because he likes to know his boundaries before he crosses them.

“Do you want to go into puppy time out, too?” Foggy retorts back without missing a beat, his voice mild like he’s asking two sugars, or three? “I’m sure I can pretzel your ninja body into that tiny little crate, right alongside with DD, so you can both learn the error of your ways.”

Matt keeps his mouth shut.

**

If he sneaks the puppy a few treats while Foggy isn’t looking, well, that’s not _his_ fault is it? After all, Matt’s the blind one here, not Foggy, and Foggy should be keeping a better eye on things because _they actually work _.__ Besides, he doesn't even like the damned thing, so it doesn't count.

He’s sad to report that neither that excuse nor looking cute let’s him escape unscathed when Foggy does, inevitably, find out. He is also not ok with being made to sleep on the couch just because he fed the dog some fucking treats.

“If I’m going to be the stereotype mom in this scenario,” Foggy says darkly when he bitches about this, “then I get to exercise all stereotype mom privileges.”

There’s...really not a whole lot that Matt can say to that.

**

Things go along relatively smoothly for something like three weeks, before it finally gets to that point where Matt has problems that he has to address.

It’s a good thing that Matt’s got actual charts worth of plotting done, and is more than ready to move this shindig to the next stage.

**

“Hey Matt, is everything ok at home?” Foggy asks. He sounds a bit flustered, like he doesn’t want to ask and yet feels like he has to because he is a good friend who can put Matt’s needs above his own discomfort. It’s adorable.

Matt simply raises an eyebrow from where he’s sitting on the floor, Daredevil panting a few feet away after a particularly gruelling game of Tug Of War. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that you’ve pretty much been at my place for like, the past few weeks and,” Foggy says and flails a little, “not that I mind or anything but like, it seems like a bit of a waste to pay rent on a place you’re not even staying at? Unless the heat is out or the water’s busted or something in which case, totally keep staying here of course. But like…” He trails off like he doesn’t know how to continue or, really, what he’s even trying to ask.

Matt, because he is a mercenary bastard when he needs to be (hello, _lawyer_ ) and rarely ever gives up on a solid opportunity when he sees it, says, “Oh you’re right.”

He waits just long enough for Foggy to start relaxing a little-- in anticipation of a solid explanation which would discount Matt being in any sort of trouble, no doubt-- before continuing on, likely with a butter wouldn’t melt smile on his face. “I should totally move in.”

Foggy choking on what sounds like air is vengeful music to his ears.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two to come shortly. Eventually. Not gonna lie, some encouragement might not be remiss. 
> 
> First comes Moving In, then comes Stealth Marriage, then comes the First Date, maybe, if Matt's not too busy being tossed into yet another dumpster. We'll see.
> 
> Want me to add a fave trope of yours to this fic? Leave a comment or hey, come here on my [Tumblr](http://thetwowriters.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phase Two. Or, how Matt proceeds to somehow become worse before he'll finally ~~(hopefully)~~ start becoming better. Foggy still deserves a Sainthood for putting up with his shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's finally done with her semester? Guess who decided to celebrate with a bottle of tequila and like, 3.7k of atrocious writing towards a fic that hasn't been updated in close to a year? (It's me. The answer is me.)
> 
> Still a fun fic. Still not serious. Still not beta'ed.
> 
> So here, have more silly Matt, Saint Foggy, and a pup.

**

Moving in goes extremely well, in Matt’s humble and experienced opinion, because he is an expert at exactly three things: breaking bad people’s faces with great prejudice, moving in with Foggy, and generally existing in Foggy's space. Things that are Foggy adjacent almost always tend to end well for him (see: his less than stellar unveiling while bleeding all over his own floor. Also see: almost all of his college experience.) and Matt doesn’t expect that this will be any different.

“Just like old times,” Matt sighs happily as he curls up against Foggy in what he’s officially dubbed _their_ couch, shitty champagne bottle pop, ensuing mess, and all.

Foggy spends five whole seconds trying to front like he’s actually irritated, before giving in to the inevitable and letting himself enjoy the closeness. Besides, he can't lie to Matt when his heart is drumming out such a cheerful tattoo in Matt's ears, light and sweet like only happiness can sound. In fact, he's had to resort to bitching at Matt through a smile, and saying mean, hurtful things like, “you'll be the one cleaning up this mess, you troublemaker. Worst roommate ever. I'm having traumatic flashbacks. I want a refund. 0/10 would not recommend unless the potential roommate in question has aspirations of being a live in maid.”

What he forgets, though, is that Matt is both willful and blind, and also not above using his awful, crippling disability against terrible friends who want him to hurt himself by making him do potentially dangerous things. Like chores or housework.

He also has it on good authority that his kicked puppy face is on par with actual kicked puppies. 

Unfortunately, Foggy has years of experience when dealing with Matt and also has a great deal of hard won immunity to, as he would phrase it, Matt’s Wounded Handsome Duck Routine.

“Nice try,” he says and proceeds to hand over both soap and wet wipes, because he is the human equivalent of Satan incarnate and has refused to cater to Matt since like, day three of being his roommate in college. “If you can leap off of rooftops without literally breaking your entire body,” he continues on when Matt stays quiet, sounding much more amused than any concerned friend should, “you can mop up crap champagne that you decided to pour everywhere for no apparent reason.”

Matt doesn’t know whether to feel fond or sour, and decides to settle on a strange mix of both.

“I was christening our new couch, you uncultured _heathen_ ,” he grumps out response and, because he is a mature adult, he doesn't even stick his tongue out. “Also,” he goes on to say, because it’s a matter of pride, “you're awful and I hate your entire face.”

Apparently Matt's distress (and general petulance) is lost on Foggy, because all he does is snort in the most ill mannered way he knows how. Matt tries his very best not to find it endearing and mostly fails. “That couch?” Foggy retorts while Matt tries his damndest not to swoon. Or fawn. Or both. “That’s potentially older than you are. Also, it’s been here since literally before I moved in. That champagne pour was not only unnecessary and overkill, it was also a complete waste of perfectly good alcohol.”

“ _Also_ , also, for the record, _now_ it's just like old times,” he adds on with a smirk when Matt sputters, because he's an awful example of humanity who won't let Matt get away with _anything_. Matt should not like that as much as he does, or feel as fond as he does. “Now clean up the mess you made of our goddamned couch.”

Which, ok. When he puts it like _that_.

Matt very suddenly feels like a helium balloon, like he's going to float away from pure, unadulterated joy if he's not super careful. Because Foggy said ‘our couch’, as in their co-owned piece of furniture in their newly shared apartment, which is a place that’s for Matt and Foggy to coexist in together. It hits Matt where he's softest, like being smacked in the face with the most fluffy two by four known to man and Matt is so, so defenseless to that sort of happiness.

It's to the point where he doesn't even complain when Foggy picks up and cuddles the pup while working Matt like a slave-- he doesn't even call Foggy out on his weak, weak excuse of “keeping DD away from the mess you made Matt, Jesus.” Or at least, he doesn't complain _much_ \-- because he’s got a lot of self restraint but he’s never been a saint and even being happy isn't going to stop him from giving Foggy shit about bringing the hellhound into their lives.

It's how he shows that he cares.

Also, he really, _really_ doesn’t like how the stupid puppy tends to take up so much of Foggy’s attention.

Surprising to exactly no one, Foggy is unimpressed with Matt's epic personality. “Wow,” he says as he audibly presses a kiss to what is presumably the dog, “drama queen.” Which, just-- that move had to be tailor made to suck away all of Matt’s good vibes because, just like that, Matt’s scowling and sulky.

“Hey!” he snaps, almost before Foggy's lips are off the dog, “I get one too.” It's the _rules_. Which Foggy doesn't know about yet because Matt hadn't gotten around to actually telling him about them. But _still_. It's imperative that he and the puppy maintain equal ground in their efforts for Foggy's attention, not the least because Matt's almost afraid that he'd lose in an outright war. Almost.

Just in case, he levels Foggy with one of his more petulant glares. For effect.

“Oh my God. Stop pouting, you manchild.” Foggy squawks, but Matt won't bitch because, despite the undeserved huffiness, he presses a kiss to Matt's head too.

So yes. Moving in goes spectacularly and Matt couldn’t be happier.

**

What Matt had apparently forgotten while he’d been living all by himself in isolation and sadness, is that living with Foggy isn’t exactly sunshine and roses either. Furthermore, Foggy knows where Matt’s rough edges are, where he’s at his most seething and ragged, and tends to press until he manages to smooth them out. Which he does, without fail.

He says it’s to help Matt grow as a person. Conversely, he’s also just that sadistic and likes to watch Matt squirm.

Which brings everything cleanly back to the good news, bad news, worse news portion of coexisting with Foggy.

Good news! Matt gets to see Foggy all the time now, which is great and wonderful and perfect! They go to work together, and come home together and eat dinner together and argue together and make up together and sleep together. Matt honestly doesn’t remember being this happy like, ever, even if he is technically sharing Foggy with his dog now.

Bad news, Foggy is starting to hand out household chores, and no matter how much Matt tries to beg off, he can't get out of it. No amount of blind kitten eyes is cutting it, no matter how hard or how long Matt aims them at Foggy.

Worse news, Foggy puts Matt in charge of feeding and walking the puppy.

Matt's always known that using his blindness to avoid having to do their laundry would come to bite him in the ass, because if there’s one thing that life has taught him, it’s that karma exists, and in spades. He just didn't realize that it would result in this sort of horror.

“Stop being a big baby,” Foggy scoffs when Matt goes to him with his complaints, which is just plain mean. “I am literally not asking you to do anything other than walking him and feeding him. The grand total of time it'll take you to do this is maybe twenty minutes, half hour at most.”

Matt is appalled. “What sort of exercise is twenty minutes?” he asks, indignant, “It doesn't qualify unless it's at least forty five minutes. And it has to be regimented.” The second the words are out of his mouth, he knows he's trapped himself, which is probably what Foggy was looking for, the perfect, conniving bastard.

Foggy just grins, to the point where even the vague heat signature that passes for him in Matt’s world feels smug. “And that's why our puppy's fitness is your job,” he says, satisfied. “Just look how well you’ve thought it out already!”

Daredevil just yips cheerfully from where he's eating the nutritionally balanced food that Foggy had bought, at Matt's insistence. Because they may be at war, but Matt isn't going to feed a small baby animal anything that could stunt its growth. Also, Foggy never makes good life choices with food. Ever. So it really does fall on Matt to feed and water the enemy. 

Doesn’t mean he wants to be seen in public with the stupid thing though, or be forced to be in charge of its well being. Hell, Matt can’t even do that for _himself_ half the time, much less for another living creature. He feels that this is a perfectly valid reason to not have to do this.

In fact, he feels so strongly about it that he spends an entire day, their first real day off in a while now that he thinks about it, arguing against it like it’s a complete act of tyranny. Which is basically _is_.

“What if I fall into a manhole,” he asks around noon, once he’s allowed them to roll out of bed, even as he obediently carries the laundry detergent to wherever Foggy wants him to go, at Foggy’s behest. “What if _it_ falls into a manhole? Do you really trust me to fish an enemy out of nasty smelling sewer water?”

“Well, Matthew,” Foggy calmly responds as he loads the washing machine full of their laundry, “Either you fish our dog out or you go in. Face first. When I chuck you in there. There will be a distinct possibility of cement shoes. Depending on how upset I feel about you not using your super senses to prevent such a thing from happening to begin with.”

Matt, however, will not be deterred.

“Ok then,” he says as he follows Foggy back into their bedroom, “What if the leash breaks and the dog runs in front a speeding car?”

Foggy doesn’t even pause. “I’ll break you,” he says peaceably, “Also, this is New York. He’s more likely to get kidnapped and sold for parts than anything else.”

“Which,” he goes on to say before Matt can so much as open his mouth, “better not happen. Because I will not be happy. You’ll wish you’d fallen into the damned manhole.”

Matt shuts his mouth.

“I don’t like this,” he growls an hour later, and throws the ball for the dog to chase. They’re outside, at Foggy’s insistence, in the closest approximation to a park in their neighborhood, and Daredevil had proceeded to chew on Matt’s only decent pair of non work related pants until he’d given in to the inevitable and thrown the ball just to get the thing away from him.

Foggy shrugs indolently as he lounges on the strategically placed bench. Even the air currents around him have a lazily satisfied sort of feel. “Tough.”

Matt throws the ball again and scowls as ferociously as he knows how. All told, it’s a pretty frightening look and should be more than enough to get Matt whatever the hell he wants.

Too bad Foggy doesn’t think so.

**

He ends up feeding Daredevil at precisely 6pm everyday. He then walks him at precisely 6:30pm, down the same exact route, with the least amount of manholes and also, traffic-- all because he heard somewhere that routine is key. He doesn’t want Foggy to actually become upset with him because something happened to the puppy and besides, he may not like it much, but he doesn’t want the thing to be emotionally stunted or anything.

It’s just the dog’s good luck that Matt is a good Christian, that's all. Love thy enemy and all that.

**

Which, speaking of being a good Christian. 

Matt’s been falling down on the job a little recently. There are actually a few things that’ve been bugging him that he wants to discuss with someone in the clergy, but he just hasn’t had much time to go to church in the past few days. Between being with Foggy, being a lawyer with Foggy, and punching bad guys’ faces in after hours, it’s like there just aren’t enough hours in the day.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he says when he finally has a few hours where the criminals of Hell’s Kitchen had apparently decided to collectively take some time off. “it's been 9 days, 14 hours, 12 minutes, and 8 seconds since my last confession.”

Father Lantom doesn't even pretend to be interested in what Matt has to say which, rude. And also hurtful, because Matt likes to think that he’s a pretty fascinating guy and frankly, Father Lantom would probably be bored without him.

Of course, when Matt says so, he just snorts. Which, again, _rude_. “It is _three am_ ,” he says, sounding far more exasperated than Matt feels is appropriate, “Just tell me what you did now so we can both go to sleep. Or at least, so I can. Because I am a normal person who values having regular REM cycles.”

Matt can't be sure, because while he'd spent a lot of time around nuns as a child, including being birthed by one, he’d never actually gone to school for this kind of thing. ( _Duh, law school._ ) But still, he's pretty sure that the clergy isn't supposed to be so completely bitchy about people confessing, no matter what time of the day.

Of course, he's also aware that being a Priest in Hell's Kitchen, where the average confession includes a complimentary body count to go with it, may actually call for a different skill set altogether. Taking that into consideration, picking a fight about it probably wouldn't end in his favor. Also, he would not put it past Father Lantom to actually get up and leave if Matt didn't get to it soon, or maybe fall asleep in the confession booth out of pure spite.

“ _Matthew_.” Father Lantom barks, exasperation clear in his voice, right in line with Matt's thinking and Matt starts blurting because he's got a Pavlovian response to people full naming him like that. Granted, it's typically only Foggy who can pull that sort of reaction, but whatever. Matt can roll with the punches. He’s spent his whole life doing just that. Ask anyone.

“I've moved back in with Foggy,” he says guiltily. “Actually, I moved back in with Foggy a while back. I've been living in sin for the past well, uh,” he feels out his watch quickly, “9 days, 14 hours, 15 minutes, and 3 seconds.”

Father Lantom is not impressed. But he’s also not shutting Matt down cold, which is honestly a massive step up from what Matt had expected.

“Do you understand what living in sin means, my child?” he grates out instead of going against his vows and tossing Matt out on his ass. He actually sounds like he's maybe thirty seconds away from trying to crucify Matt, blaspheming and Matt's nighttime reputation as a moderately psychotic vigilante be damned, but that’s neither here nor there.

Still, Matt is taken aback by the pure resentment, and also literally takes a step back, just in case. He's pretty sure the good Father could actually bury him alive if he were to try and Matt just isn’t prepared to give him that sort of opening if he can avoid it. “Well, Father,” he says, very, very carefully, “I'm living with him, uh, out of wedlock? We're sharing the same bedroom and sleeping on the same bed? Mostly so that the dog won't get to keep Foggy to himself and usurp my position while I sleep somewhere else, granted, but I think it still qualifies?”

There’s a solid thirty seconds of dead silence. Matt crosses himself, just in case he has to defend himself against a Servant of God, in the House of God.

“Let me make sure I have this right,” the Father says eventually, his voice taking on the overly pleasant quality of someone who’s genuinely and cheerfully considering murder. “You've moved back in with Franklin, possibly forcibly, because you think you're about to lose Franklin to a dog, if you don't.”

Matt nods and then makes a noise in affirmative, because nobody understands him like Father Lantom does but even he can’t read the air currents around Matt’s head, especially not through the layer of wood separating them.

“You even go as far to sleep in the same bed as him in assert your position which, in your own words, is living in sin.”

Again, Matt grunts, this time with a little bit more petulance.

Another twenty or so seconds pass before Father Lantom pinches the bridge of his nose; Matt can tell because he can hear the air currents around the good Father’s fingers as he moves. 

There’s another sigh, one that sounds a lot like defeat. “I think, my son,” he says, “that you already know what you have to do.”

“In fact, I think you've always known.”

It sounds a lot like a complete cop out of an answer, if Matt’s ever heard one, and he would absolutely protest at being written off, except--

Except maybe the Father is being serious.

Which, huh. Maybe. There really aren’t many ways to avoid living in sin, now that he thinks about it.

Actually, now that he’s _really_ thinking about it, that's absolutely a way to kill all the birds with one neat, gift packaged stone, because it would cement his position and, ultimately, win him the war while he’s at it.

“Huh,” Matt says in surprise because, of all things, a perfect solution is not what he was expecting from his visit to the church today. “Thank you, Father, that’s an excellent idea.”

Father Lantom just grumbles. “Fucking finally,” he mutters and shuffles out of the confession booth without so much as a by your leave, which is sort of expected to be honest.

“For His mercy endures forever," Matt yells at his back, because he knows how this is supposed to go.

The good Father flips him the bird without so much as turning around, which, again. _Rude as hell_.

But Matt’s mostly too busy being happy that he has a plan to work with, now, to care. He just has to execute it in the right way and everything will be perfect.

**

Because he’s Matt and he believes in starting as you mean to go on, he decides that breakfast the next morning is the perfect time to get things properly going.

“So,” he says, his voice appropriately cheerful for such wonderful news, “Father Lantom said I should marry you.”

For some reason, this makes Foggy choke on-- wow, it’s like he's choking on literally nothing, a feat that Matt had previously thought impossible. He legitimately tries every time he gets monologued at by some low level thug, but it never seems to work no matter how much effort he puts into putting himself out of his misery. He usually ends up having to shut them up, with his fist and, occasionally, his feet or his head. But he digresses.

“Foggy?” he asks uncertainly, because he wants to show that he can be solicitous but he also wants wants to make sure Foggy isn't going to actually asphyxiate. He's pretty sure that marrying the corpse formerly known as Foggy would be both illegal and traumatic and plus, well, he doesn't really want a dead best friend at the end of the day. “Are you ok? I don't actually know that much first aid outside of stitching myself up.”

In his defense, he’s never really had to do much more than that, especially not since Claire came into the picture. Actually, he hasn’t even had to do that much since he met her. He should probably get her flowers as soon as he’s done making sure that Foggy is ok.

“I mean, I know the basics of the Heimlich? I think?” he continues as Foggy continues to try and literally cough his lungs out. Then, in the interest of full disclosure, because he really does try his best not to lie to Foggy if he can avoid it, “Only, I think I’d likely break your ribs? Which absolutely does not feel good, let me tell you.”

Foggy glares at him hard enough that Matt can feel it from across the table.

He suddenly decides that his best course of action is to shut up and get Foggy some water.

**

“Oh man,” Foggy says approximately forever later, once he’s done trying to introduce his insides to the outside world, “For a second there, I thought you were proposing to me. Because your Priest told you that it was the only way to assuage your Catholic guilt and still get what you want, at the same time.”

Matt blinks, because when he puts it like that, well. “Well, if I were, would you say yes?” he asks uncertainly.

Foggy levels him with a look that feels a lot like getting his scalp forcibly peeled off his skull. “What do you think?” he asks, in that sweet voice that means that he’s about to decimate someone in court, when he’s waiting for someone to screw up so he can beat them to death with their own mistakes.

Matt spends a few seconds mentally apologizing to everyone who’d ever been on the receiving end of that voice on Matt’s gleeful watch and asks, even more uncertainly. “No?”

“Good answer,” Foggy says curtly, before walking away to get some work done on their latest case, “Now come help me with this research.”

Well, the good news is that he’s at least still talking to Matt. 

That probably just means that Matt needs to up his game, then.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my [Tumblr](http://thetwowriters.tumblr.com/). Come say hi or to give suggestions for what you want to see next.


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